


A heist for your heart

by horrorriz



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: ...with the other one unaware of it, Abusive Parents, Hurt/Comfort, I promise it's not all hell, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Illness, Murder, Mutual Pining, Oswald and Ed origin stories, Robbery, Some Fluff, They're in their early 20s, angst with eventual happy ending, beatings/abuse, but also some really sweet moments, confused feelings, loss of a loved one, petty crime, pre series timeline, this is a lot of pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-12-06 22:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18226379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorriz/pseuds/horrorriz
Summary: Do you believe in fate? A moment in time, lined up perfectly in order for two people to meet at the very right spot, at the very right moment. How that has the possibility to change one’s life forever.Oswald didn’t know then, what it would mean to take in the broken man dying in an alley, but perhaps not all things needed an logical explanation.





	1. Rainfall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkprincecharming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkprincecharming/gifts).



> This prompt was given to me a while ago now, so we'll see if he even remembers it, sorry it took so long!
> 
> I wanted to really focus on the feelings of season 1-2 as a base for what had happened if they had met before canon started, with some extras after canon. It sets a little bit different mood but I hope people will like it. It is also a deeper exploration of Oswald and Ed's relationship to their parents, and how vastly different their upbringing was.
> 
> Please, beware of the tags. It's tagged for future chapters but still be considerate.

The rain was starting to really come down. Oswald was already soaking wet seeing as how he wasn’t carrying an umbrella.   
His most recent job had backfired spectacularly. In essence, he accidentally managed to trigger the alarm, and had miscalculated the amount of time it would take for the police to show up. Which, naturally, had to be the case in this particular situation. He should have known better, but he wasn’t used to the newer security systems used by this store. If he had only had the capability to disarm it, things would have been so much simpler, easier.  
But lacking that particular ability… Here he was instead, running through the cold autumn rain with his jacket over his head in a pointless attempt to stay dry. Empty handed. He would need to get back out there again tomorrow if he had any plans to eat this week at all, already painfully aware how all he had back at home was a couple of canned beans at most.  
  
A man appeared within his path so suddenly that Oswald accidentally ran into him. He gave the stranger a brief apology before trying to get up and resume his way ahead. But the man grabbed each sides of his arms with a kind of desperate urgency —big, tear-filled eyes looking back up at his, full of fear. Bruises covered his skin along with a few cuts, decorating his face in what almost appeared as puzzle pieces with the different colored shapes. Overgrown, brown tangled hair only added to his overall unkempt look. The man himself seemed scraggly and thin, having lived on the streets for quite some time by the looks of it.  
  
“Please… Father. No more…”  
Were the last few words uttered by the man before his eyes seemed to roll up in his head, body going limp, making him collapse into the wet, hard concrete below. His face suffered more neglect as it had an awful meeting with the solid surface, further adding to his already scraped and bruised face.  
  
Oswald watched as the rain continued to fall around them. No one would come for this man, if he left him here, in this state, he would certainly freeze to death.  
But why should he care? If it were him, no one would have even considered picking him up, helping him. Except perhaps his mother… She would have done anything to help, even for a complete stranger.  
The painful memories of her death hit him with a piercing —yet dulled heartache.   
She had been on her way home, then. Making her way through the damp corridors of the apartment building they lived in, when she noticed a large man stomping around. Systematically making his way down the line of apartment doors to press down on the handles with such force they might come come off entirely. He had yelled with a brute, raspy voice, calling out for another male’s name.  
All she had done was kindly tap his shoulder, asking who he was looking for and if she could offer him some assistance in his search. The gratitude rewarded for her kindness had been a bullet through her gut.  
The man fled the scene shortly after, afraid the police had heard the gunshot, he felt the need to make his escape, abandoning whatever original business he had in the building.  
  
Oswald had not been there to protect her, doomed to hear the tragic story from a snoopy neighbor who had witnessed the scene unfold before them via the crack of their door. Not even having the common decency to interfere and help her, the moral of this wretched city was truly too far gone to ever be redeemed.  
Having cursed the person for their lack of willingness to assist during the assault, but pleaded them to at least show some humanity by coming with to the precinct to bear witness and offer a description of the man. They refused, of course. One could call it self-preservation, but Oswald called it out for what it truly was, cowardice.  
Weighed by grief and guilt, an unsoothable white hot surge of anger worked through him, he had beat them senseless —until they finally gave in and told him. And for what worth? The description of any generic thug, a needle in a haystack of this crime riddled city.  
In order to save his own skin, fearing they might call the cops on him for the torture he had used to squeeze any ounce of information from the cretin —he had given them a last fatal blown to secure their fate. It’s not like they didn’t deserve it, he concluded. They had it coming, karma for their sheer selfishness.  
  
His mother would have been just as disappointed then as she would have now, if he were to leave this man on the street to die.  
Oswald sighed heavily, filled with remorse of the memories. Then proceeded to throw the deadweight over his shoulders and started to make the gruelling journey home with heavy steps through the persistent rain.  
The apartment his mother had left him, in which he currently resided, wasn’t far away, he could make the distance with some stubbornness, he thought.  
Besides, the man, as previously noted, was awfully thin for his otherwise tall frame, he really couldn’t have been eating well lately… The recollection of his minimal supplies at home made its sad reality known, but he had already decided he would happily provide them to this man who clearly was in greater need of them than he was. Regardless, he could just steal some food tomorrow. That would allow him to make it through the week, it was easier than robbery for the sake of money, anyway.  
  
Oswald wasn’t entirely certain why he was going through such effort for a man he didn’t even know, and who clearly seemed to suffer from kind of mental disability or the likes.   
Perhaps it was the crippling loneliness after losing his mother which prompted him to desperately seek out any kind of human connection to soothe the empty hole she had left in his chest… Someone who had no one else in the world to rely on and therefore wouldn’t betray him, someone he could even consider giving a speck of his trust to. Could this stranger really be that for him?  
He allowed his mind to wander with possibilities —hope, really, as he dragged his feet over the wet pavement and finally into the moderately warmer and drier comforts of his home.  
  
  
Upon having removed his own soaked clothes and changing into more comfortable, dry ones, he began the same procedure for the man. Carefully undressing him, doing his best not to sneak a peek as he put him into one of his spare flannel pajama pants —far too short for him but it was the only thing he owned that would even remotely fit his tall frame.  
Oswald tucked him down into the couch with the same caring warmth he recalled of his mother, placing several crochet blankets over the duvet to be certain he avoided getting hypothermia after having been exposed to the freezing rain for a prolonged time.   
It wasn’t like he was lacking spare textiles anyway, his mother had been fond of many kinds of needlecraft and most of the things she had made were blankets or scarves. _You must stay warm so you don’t get sick, my little Kapelput._ He smiled at the memory of her sitting on that very couch while working on her latest creation.  
At least they would get some proper use now.  
  
Oswald watched the man in silence for a few minutes, reflecting over his own sad excuse of a life. Unable to properly mourn for his dead mother, feeling detached from the whole general idea of grief. He didn’t even know how to cry, god knows he had tried though. Desperately craving some sort of outlet for the tight feeling in his chest.  
The months following his mother’s passing had been all about pure and simple survival, get through the day and onto the next. To locate and acquire money and food in order to just barely scrape by. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Embrace the hollow nothingness spreading through his chest like frost freezing his insides solid, painting beautiful patterns along it’s way to closing off one feeling after another. Slowly but steadily closing in and circling his heart like a glacier snake, soon swallowing it and whatever emotions he still possessed in a pretty display of solid ice. Too cold to the touch for anyone to ever lay their hands on him and touch his heart once more.  
  
Although there was still one feeling that had yet to be encased in his frosty exterior, it burned through the layers and scorched his very soul aflame —anger. For the world was unfair, his mother’s death had been unjustified and remained unsolved and without any retaliation. Fueled by the thought that the man who had taken his mother from him before her time in such biased actions of impulsive rage, would walk free to repeat his foul ways… It didn’t just ignite a fire inside Oswald, it was burning him up inside, making him want to hurt someone just as he had hurt her. No, not only that. He wanted them to suffer, to beg and scream for him to stop and spare them as he blindly ignored them and continued his crusade for revenge. As he had done in order to find the culprit, only learning a loose description of a man in a cap and dark clothes.  
  
His anger remained untamed, burning brighter for every day he knew the killer was still out there with his wayward ways. He knew very well that said rage would consume him one day very soon if he didn’t give it an outlet in the near future. The knowledge that he would continue to disappoint his mother, to dishonor her death with his foolish and unruly feeling eating him up alive, consuming his very being. That he would remain too distracted by this hot fury to be order to focus on the importance of giving his mother the justice and revenge she deserved… That was the worst part of it all.  
  
So, what was this tiny spark of light and hope being lit inside him now?


	2. Morning sun

A single stray ray of sunlight managed to seep through the high windows of the old apartment, draped with layers of lace fabrics, carefully arranged to give a more sophisticated and expensive look than it really was.  
Groaning inaudibly the man from last night made a grimace as he began to sit up on the couch. He finally opened his eyes, only to be met by unknown, blurry surroundings. Where were his glasses? Where was he?  
Squinting, he tried to make out anything resembling familiarity within the room, realizing it was hopeless without sight.  
Then his view was suddenly blocked by a dark silhouette, a man? Perhaps?  
  
“I see that you’re finally awake. Are you hungry?” Oswald kindly asked him, giving the stranger a soft smile unaware of the other’s limited sight.  
  
The figure talks, the stranger thought to himself. How peculiar.  
He threw off the comforter, the patchwork quilt, and various other blankets stacked on top of him and started to stand up on wobbly legs —only for them to give way under him, sending him back into the couch with a loud thud.  
  
Oswald lunged forward in an attempt to catch the man before he fell, but to no avail. He was lucky to have a soft landing in comparison to the previous night.  
He sighed as he went around the small coffee table placed in front of the tiny couch, internally noting how stiff the man’s back must have been after having his long limbs stick out from the much too small piece of furniture during his rest.   
Oswald sat down beside him, wondering why he was moving so close to someone he didn’t even know the name of. He had never been one to seek out any physical closeness, merely allowing his mother’s repeatedly loving embraces like second nature. Keeping everyone else at safe distance.  
“What’s your name? What do you remember about last night?” he carefully asked. His fists clenched in his lap out of nervousness, eyes locked onto the floor with a timid demeanor.  
  
The stranger noted the shift of weight next to him on the couch, but didn’t think much more of it. He was far more focused on the inquiry he’d been presented with. In all honesty, it felt more like a riddle than a question. His mind was strangely detached from this whole situation. Yet, it seemed like it was intended as a simple question.'  
He couldn’t help but feel like something wasn’t quite right. Apart from his strained sight and how the room seemed to spin, colors and shapes floating together with him, hovering in thin air to witness it all from above. Light as a feather and no foothold to the world, not quite there but having some sense of grounding to the question at present.   
Holding up his hand in front his eyes, he tried to focus on how much clearer the outlines of his fingers were than the rest of the room. He needed to find some sort of clarity in this complex disarray. Answer the question.  
His name? He couldn’t remember… Who he was... And what he had been doing before ending up in this strange predicament.  
 _“You’ve always been a mistake. If I ever have the misfortune of laying my eyes on you again, I’ll make sure your outsides match the disgusting and disgraceful failure that’s inside that head of yours.”_ The words rang loudly in his ears, overpowering any other sound and prompting him to shoot up again, eyes wide and expression livid. Beginning to fumble with his long legs he tried to get them to once again comply and make his getaway, stumbling over furniture, tripping over a vase on his way before finally falling over and hitting his head on a side table, falling unconscious once again.

 

***

 

Next time he woke, the room was dark besides a few lamps illuminating a golden light which spread dimly around the room. He could hear faint music playing further into the space, accompanied by the low pitch of a man humming along with the record.  
What could this strange mirage haunting his mind be, and what did it mean?  
  
Soon, a pleasant aroma of food infiltrated his senses, and he heard the metallic sound of a tray being placed in front of him. He bent over for a closer inspection of what appeared to be some sort of meat and vegetable soup, as well as a few pieces of bread and a tall glass of water.  
Was this… Meant for him?  
  
“Morning friend,” Oswald greeted him.  
All he received as a response was a puzzled expression, so he continued to gesture towards the tray with food. “It’s goulash, my mother’s recipe. It would appear as if you haven’t had a lot to eat lately, and you need your strength back. So please, help yourself. My treat.”  
It had taken several trips to a handful of stores in order to steal enough fresh ingredients to make the dish as his mother would have, he felt it was the only way to give her cooking justice, despite the means to do it. It had been a long time since Oswald himself had a proper meal… He caved and left the stranger to his food while Oswald made his way to the kitchen to retrieve his own plate.  
  
Once back in the living room, Oswald settled his plate down in front of him and took his seat across the couch in a smaller armchair, mismatched in fabric and patterns from the rest of the furniture. Looking up, he found the other man aimlessly lifting the spoon and tipping it over again to watch the soup pour back into the deep plate, playing with it like a displeased child.  
Strange didn’t even begin to explain this mystery guest of his…  
  
  
After having finished his… “Shopping” of supplies needed for dinner done earlier that day, he had made a specific trip to the library. Oswald was by far no stranger to books, yet beyond an odd detective story here and there, his reading mostly consisted of economics or other educational literature in an attempt to make up for his unfinished schooling. This due to him quitting school early to take care of his mother financially and himself, which ultimately gave no additional time to spend on studying. A fact that left his mother sad and a tad bit disappointed, but she had known it was a reality of the less fortunate class they resided in.  
  
This particular situation called for a completely different approach of literature, and he had found himself in a section of books explaining the human psyche.  
If he were to actually help this delirious man who’d been sleeping on his couch, he first needed to figure out what mental troubles that seemed to be the root of his problems. The details of it was something books couldn’t teach him, sure, but perhaps reading up a little bit on the signs could give him insight into what he could do to be of assistance.  
Oswald had spent the rest of the afternoon scavenging through book after book, trying to make sense the confused state of the man.   
It was not until dark had already swallowed the city —when the less than nice population woke to make their rounds, that he finally picked up his things along with a couple of books to go and made his way back home; before he would suffer a bigger chance of running into trouble, and with the knowledge that the stranger could wake up any minute. Oswald was reluctant to let him destroy anything else left of his mother’s beloved apartment.  
  
  
Once he finished going through the recollection of his day and coming back to reality, Oswald was surprised to hear the man speak for the first time since taking him home.  
“Ed,” the man suddenly spoke, following the words with a mouthful of food after giving it a slight, cooling blow.  
  
“Say again?” Oswald glanced up from his own meal.  
  
“My name, it’s Ed,” he repeated without lifting his gaze from the plate, continuing to scoop in more soup.  
  
Finally! A development, it was getting frustrating —perhaps a tiny bit lonely too.  
Oswald smiled, despite the awareness of being watched. “Oswald,” he stated in response. “—Cobblepot!” he then added with the desire to remain polite by giving Ed his surname as well.  
  
“Nygma.” Ed followed quickly, as a spur of the moment decision. It was a name he’d been playing around with whenever it was too painful to be associated with the one linking him to his father…  
This was the first time he spoke it out loud, and it felt surprisingly _good.  
  
_ “Well then Mr. Nygma, do you care to fill me in how you ended up in the streets?”  
  
A high pitched clink echoed as Ed dropped his spoon into his plate, splashing the contents all over the table.  
Oswald jumped at the sudden sound. He realized he should have been more attentive of the man’s current mental state before asking such a loaded question. He had spent the day reading up on this, he really should have known better. The subject would not always be susceptible to any kind of help, but could in fact end up taking several steps back if triggered into the delusional state of panic and anxiety once more.  
Oswald cleared his throat, deciding to try again, maybe a little less straightforward with any potentially sensitive subjects.  
“I mean, you didn’t seem to have eaten for quite some time. Is the soup alright?” He added a smile for good measure.  
  
Nygma’s stance softened a fraction and he picked up his spoon again to continue his meal.  
“Yes,” was all he could muster up for a reply. Everything felt robotic, automatic, like he wasn’t the driver of his own body, it merely moved with a will of its own while Ed was left on the side like a powerless spectator. Detached, floating, struggling to keep his feet on the ground… The only thing grounding him was the soothing voice of his rescuer.   
  
“Is there anything I can do to help, anything you need?”  
  
 _“For the bad man to disappear,”_ a voice replied in Ed’s mind, he was uncertain if it was his own, a childlike version of himself, or… Someone else’s. Ever since— Since his father had thrown him out once and for all, not even satisfied with the constant beatings as enough to keep his hatred at bay anymore.  
The voices had increased since then, becoming louder and louder, boiling with some fury buried deep inside his psyche. Feelings, desires to do things so bad he didn’t know if he had it in him to carry them out. Yet this one voice of his, the snickering laughter in the back of his head… He had a feeling the confidence he labored, was more than willing and capable to carry out the built up frustration after years of having been pushed down. Ridiculed, made an outcast for simply being cursed with being _smarter_ than the general population. What a curse it had been and continued to be. Many times he wished he could be one of them, the oblivious and simple minds who didn’t even stop to reflect over their own careless happiness. Oh, what a blessing oblivion that would have been.  
...Yes, the voices were certainly growing stronger at a rapid speed, gaining wills and personalities of their own. Another reason he felt at a loss of control over his own body at times.  
  
“I’m fine for now,” Ed finally replied.  
Last he needed was someone else to spite him for his weakness, his troubled and much too crowded mind. Better to keep it concealed, even though he was fairly certain he had already proven himself as completely useless.  
  
It proved more difficult than anticipated to keep the already strained conversation moving, but at least Oswald had learned his name, it was a start. If Ed did not feel like sharing any further information, Oswald supposed he could pay a visit to the archives the following day, see what information he could find under Ed— Most likely short for Edward Nygma.  
He supposed for now, this would have to do, at least he knew more than he had yesterday.  
  
“Well there’s one thing,” the tall man suddenly mentioned.  
  
“Yes? I shall do my best, but naturally I can offer no promises.”  
  
“Have you seen my glasses?”  
  
Glasses? Oh… OH! That explained a lot about his disoriented state earlier that day. Combined with his lack of nutrition lately, it could not have been easy to maneuver that gangly body of his. He should have known.  
“I’m afraid I did not see them when I found you, or perhaps my mind was occupied with the question how I was supposed to get you home. My apologies.”  
  
“You brought me here?”  
  
“I couldn’t leave you unconscious in the freezing rain, could I?” Oswald smiled, warm and genuine. When had he felt such warmth last?  
  
Edward could feel his cheeks heat up with the sentiment, never in his life had someone been kind to him —possibly saving his life at that! Who was this man, having seemingly come out of nowhere, at the exact right time for them to meet? The one person that would have found him during such a delicate state —deep into one of his episodes, was one who still owned a heart, who took pity on him and took him in to care for him. Even at Ed’s lowest, most confusing, and degrading of states.  
Surely, this cannot possibly be real? Perhaps he was still there, laying on the ground and this was a pitiful wishful dream flashing before his eyes as the life drained out of him…  
  
Unaware of Ed’s dark thoughts, Oswald put their plates neatly together on the serving tray, seeing they had both finished their meals. He headed for the kitchen before stopping midway to call back at Ed. “Do you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Nygma?”  
  
“Ed is just fine, and yes please. Some tea would be lovely, thank you.”  
Perhaps he wasn’t dreaming after all?  
  
Oswald merely offered a nod in response before disappearing through the doorway.  
While he was loading the teapot with plain black tea, he could hear his mother pestering him in the back of his mind. __“Oswald dear, you shouldn’t drink that this late at night. You won’t be able to sleep!”  
It had been seven months since her passing now, and the loss wasn’t getting the slightest easier to handle. He wiped away a stray tear (how odd, when did he regain his ability to cry?) before he had to move the whistling kettle off the stove.  
He was still not sure why he was going through so much effort, offering not only the comforts of his home but his personal comfort as well, for this stranger... Was the sudden responsibility he had felt for him formed from guilt of not having been present to protect his mother when she had need him at most? —how he had failed to keep her safe like he had always promised her?  
Ed was… There was something about the man he couldn’t quite place, tickling him at the tip of his tongue, yet too far to grasp. Just beyond reach, simmering below the surface. Waiting to be found, explored. It was calm, almost familiar —yet exciting and new in that giddy, childless manner, a surprise waiting to be unwrapped.  
  
After Oswald had come back, setting down a cup each on the small table between them, they sipped on their tea in silence, both obviously deep in thought. The curious thing about it all, was it wasn’t in the slightest bit awkward, a comfortable moment of solitude.  
They simply existed together under the dim yellow light of his mother’s many table lamps, confident in each other’s company even if they only just met. As if they had always been together, trusted one another wholly.   
There was certainly something strange and unexplainable about this instant familiar connection they felt for one another, and how they didn’t feel any need to even begin to explain it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to post once a week, on Sundays, which I succeeded this time around!  
> I hope you're enjoying this story and if you do, please let me know, sometimes I wonder if anyone cares at all...   
> Anyway I've been enjoying this story and I will let you all know, I originally did NOT intend to this to be reversed roles with season 2 and other various of references, it just... Happened? Happy accidents???? I suppose they were always meant for each other, hint hint.


	3. Frozen grounds

Helping out with a simple request of giving his new friend his sight back couldn’t be seen of that much of a gesture, could it? Something so very basic couldn’t mean anything, after all. —But if it was such simple kindness, then why did he currently find himself in an alley beside a local optician? Adjusting his scarf in order to cover most of his face to shield his identity, in preparation of the robbery he was about to execute?  
Perhaps the reason wasn’t of importance, more  the fact that he just wanted to carry through the effort to explore the companionship he had literally stumbled upon, and in order to do this he needed to make sure his new associate —friend? Would be in the best mental and physical health as possible.  
  
Without any further dwelling on what the intentions behind his actions might mean, he took the bowler hat from his hands and neatly put it on his head, tipping the front low so it cast a shadow over his eyes. One single deep breath later, he took stance and stormed into the store with a handgun raised as a threat.  
  
The store owner dropped what he was holding and backed away against the row of glasses behind him, tipping a few of them over upon the impact.   
  
“Give me all your prescriptions for nearsightedness!” Oswald called out.   
  
He didn’t know much about glasses as he had never needed a pair, but he had gathered as much that the man was nearsighted. He hoped that if he just took everything, he would come across at least one pair that would be a prescription close enough to offer some relief.   
  
“Please don’t hurt me!” The optician stammered back in response, hands shooting up in the air in an act of surrender.   
  
“Just follow my instructions perfectly and you’ll be fine.” Oswald kept the gun steady, speaking in a calm, but cold manner. He had done a lot of robberies in his life but something about this time was wiring him up and he really needed to restrain himself not to let his voice falter and his credibility fall.   
  
“W-Which strength do you need?”  
  
“It’s…It doesn’t matter, just give me all of them.”  
  
“You don’t understand, they’re designed specifically for people’s nee—”  
  
“Hand them over already and I’ll soon be on my way without tearing through the rest of your store!” Oswald raised his voice and cut the other man off, gaining a clearly annoyed hint to his tone. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, worried what might happen once someone noticed what was going down in the small store and involve the damned GCPD. Not that the lot of them were very well known for doing a good job, or even overally care if they were —but it would still certainly complicate things with the potential additional firearms they carried.  
  
Too scared to make any additional objections or remarks, the store owner started digging through the drawers located under the many displays, rapidly filling a cardboard box with various frames.  
Once finished, Oswald ripped the box from his hands while making sure to keep his gun held up high, before turning around to run out, dashing past people until he found safety inside the escape car he had parked a couple of blocks away.  
Hopefully, it would have all been worth the effort and the risk.  
  


 

***   
  


 

Ed squinted his eyes as he looked down into the box of mixed frames.  
“Where did you get…?”  
  
“It’s not important. Are there any you can use?”  
  
“Let’s take a look…”  
  
One after one, Ed started picking up the glasses, going through each and every one of them until he found a pair that he was able to see almost completely clearly through. There was a faint blurry outline to whatever he focused on, which admittedly triggered a slight headache, but it was certainly an improvement from before.  
He excused himself to go have a proper look in the bathroom mirror, curious as to how the frames looked on him. They were black with silver details, old school, and perhaps a little bit feminine, nothing he would have picked out himself —or more likely nothing that his father had allowed him to wear.   
After another look, the style started to grow on Ed, flattering the shape of his head. They made him feel oddly confident. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that it was different, a new look for a new chapter in his life… What did it matter what his father thought anyway? The man had thrown him out, clearly proving just how little he had ever cared for Ed, how nothing would ever be good enough for him.  
Yes, wearing a pair of glasses that he genuinely liked seemed like an appropriate first step in becoming his own person, diverting the path written out by others, now finally free to form his own set of rules and values.  
  
Ed proudly exited the bathroom with a smile on his lips, featuring a beaming newfound confidence.  
  
“These are quite nice, the prescription is a bit off from my own but it will have to do. Thank you. You didn’t have to—” Oswald held up his right hand, stopping him mid sentence.  
  
“Truly, it was nothing. No need to thank me.”  
  
“Why are you being so kind to me?”  
  
“You couldn’t see very well, naturally I couldn’t allow you suspended in such a weakened stat—” This time it was Oswald’s turn to be talked over by the rather impatient Mr. Nygma.  
  
“I mean with everything, why are you doing all this for me?” Ed could feel his previous state of confidence starting to sway, running off him — leaving him cold and shivering. The certainty replaced by doubt about his own worth —once again creeping up on him, like the kind of vermin you can’t quite get rid off, no matter how many traps you set.  
  
Oswald didn’t answer, the fact was he couldn’t. Still not having the slightest idea what had prompted him to look out for Ed to this degree, going far and beyond the initial guilt that would have come by leaving him behind in the cold of that alley. Throwing him out on the street would have been so easy with the state he was in upon awakening the following day, but it had been three days since then.  
  
The truth was that he was far too intrigued by Edward to see him leave yet, a strange enticement of getting to know this enigmaticly still stranger, growing more familiar for each minute. His company was a reassuring comfort that Oswald had allowed himself get used to the last few days.  
The knowledge that when he returned home, there wouldn't be the ghostly emptiness that had lingered since his mother’s passing. Instead, a warmth in its place with the presence Edward offered. Someone to share his meals with, however limited his supplies might be —perhaps one to share his aspirations and hopes with, in an unknown future... A reason to keep going, keep trying, living.   
It had been months since he had any remotely meaningful conversation with anyone, apart from the normal threats carried out to whatever store he had robbed last —not exactly the most ideal setting to be starting a discussion.  
  
“You could have just left me out there,” Ed continued after the lack of response, seeking a proper answer. He needed to know, because none of this made any sense. Ed was nothing, had never been of value to anyone. Why would this… Stranger, offer more relief and interest —care, than anyone had ever done before in his life, more than his own parents?  
  
“You would have frozen to death if I had.” It wasn’t exactly an answer, but it wasn’t a lie either.  
  
“That’s not what I asked.”  
  
“Then what is it?” Oswald raised an eyebrow.  
  
Ed shielded away, averting his gaze, ashamed to have been caught with his actual motives —trying to understand why someone would care about a worthless moron like himself.  
He wasn’t able to even _begin_ to fathom this concept of kindness. All while Oswald sat there, looking back at him with such soulful, honest eyes. Genuine worry spilling over, a gaze searching answers. —Had anyone ever looked at him like that?  
  
“Why would you care for a worthless stranger like me?”  
His thoughts escaped him faster than he could acknowledge them, leaving his mouth first, then stumbling over himself in a messy display of further embarrassment and shameful weakness. He instantly regretted the sentence, fearing for what violent response would follow as a punishment for his petty self. Ed raised his shoulders up high, hands covering his face, flinching instinctively —far too well aware of what usually came next.  
  
Oswald was left staring at Ed, utterly speechless. Despite Ed’s desperate attempts to conceal himself, his insecurity and choice of words offered enough vague hints for one to be able to read between the lines that something had happened. Telling the story of the state Oswald had found him on the street had not been self inflicted, and that the cause of his mental illness laid deeply rooted, more so than he had originally thought.  
If he were to even begin to find a way to be able to help the man, there was some unanswered details that needed solving. A concept that could prove rather hard to do with how enclosed Ed was, seemingly terrified of showing any speck of supposed weakness.  
  
However, the increasing need to help, soothe, and reassure screamed much louder than the desire to analyze a calculated solution. Ed required immediate attention for his deep running trauma, needed someone to stop the bleeding of an open wound before he collapsed at the internal misery of far too long ignored pain and suffering.  
It was like the pain was radiating off him without his knowledge, having become such a profound part of his personality by now that maybe he didn’t know how to live without it? Perhaps Oswald was reading too much into it, or maybe he was the first one in a very, very long time to truly see it? It felt like daggers in his own heart and he didn’t know why, nor did he stop to reflect as to why.  
  
Without another word, Oswald took a step forward to pull the other man into a hasty —somewhat awkward embrace.   
For a moment, it was all he could think of. The only action he had recollection of having any degree of comfort and reassurance, had been his mother’s warm arms around him —face nuzzled into her fluffy blonde hair while his tears wet her shoulders and he let all his worries pour out of him.  
And just like that little boy had cried in his mother’s embrace, Oswald could feel this grown man clutching to him in response. A sudden, almost desperate need for proximity —screaming from neglect of closeness and touch of another human being. Now grasping —clawing, for whatever shred of care he was offered.  
  
For what felt like an endless moment —time slowing down around them, they just stood there, locked into an embrace that seemed to mean everything —and nothing at the same time.   
Until, eventually Edward pulled away, his back turned to Oswald. He was shivering ever so slightly and focused on bringing shaky hands up under his newly acquired glasses to dry his eyes from what he wanted to call ‘stubborn liquid generated as an emotional outlet’.  
  
“I apologize, you must think very little of me now. I understand you will want nothing to do with me from this point on, so I suppose this is goodbye. Thank you —for everything you’ve done for me. I won’t forget it.”  
  
“Wha—… Hold on, Ed. What are you talking about?”  
  
 _No, nonono NO._ He didn’t like this, not at all. This wasn’t right.  
Oswald could feel the panic rising like a tidal wave about to swallow the entire city that was his mind castle, the walls falling down around him. It started as a slight shiver, growing stronger until he was properly trembling, his breath strained and voice stuck in his throat.  
 _Not now, please. Not him!_ He couldn’t lose Ed, he couldn’t lose someone else —even if it logically just meant them leaving, but his mind was all but rational at the moment.  
Oswald would be alone again, suffocating by his own loneliness and isolation choking him to an agonizingly slow death.  
Was this just him being selfish for wanting Ed there for his own starvation of emotional bonds, rather than wanting to care for the man? Even then— surely it was better for both of them if he stayed?  
  
Ed ignored him, at least tried to. He had to go, what other choice did he have? Couldn’t stay here to make a further fool out of himself all while using this poor kind man to heal all his many aches. Wasn’t that just typical? One man decided to take mercy or perhaps pity on him, and Ed instantly clung onto him for dear life and begged for more —needing the empathy like fresh air he didn’t know he had lived without his entire life.  
No, he was better than that, he had to be. Using someone for your own well being and amusement… That was something _he_ would have done. If Ed lowered himself to such standards, what even gave him the right to denounce the man he had grown up to call his father?  
  
“Please… Don’t go. Don’t leave me, I can’t be alone again…” Oswald’s voice cracked when his walls finally crumbled around him, all the built up emotions he had tried to shut inside in order to survive exploding around him. He could feel his eyes turning glossy, an ugly sob of pure desperation threatening to consume him any second now.  
  
Edward stopped, just as he was to put his hand on the door handle leading out of the apartment and ultimately also Oswald’s life. Slowly, with fear brewing inside him, he turned to once again face the man who had rescued him from a certain and most likely highly degrading death.  
  
Big blotches of salty liquid was now freely flowing from Oswald’s eyes as he couldn’t stop the tears from falling anymore, the floodgates had opened and all he could do now was to sit back and let it drain him.  
When was the last time he had cried? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was this everlasting emptiness that had haunted him for months now, consuming him so fully that there was no room for real honest emotions anymore. Then what was this? Where were all this coming from…  
  
He asked himself again, why this stranger meant so much to him —this man he didn’t even really know yet. Or maybe that was it? The possibilities of an obvious connection, they felt the sparks between them, threatening to catch fire and grow into a blazing flame of intensity he couldn’t even begin to fathom yet. The sadness he felt, a loss of the potential it all carried.   
Oswald had never had a real friendship. Mocked and tortured for his looks and personality, he had turned to a life of solitude. After all, he had his mother and that was all he had ever needed. —Until he didn’t have her anymore, until he was left to look at the life he had created for himself with a feeling of utter remorse and perhaps blatant pity for himself. A life of nothingness, of no one. No purpose, no goals, no friends —nothing. Just an eternal, hollow darkness matching the aching feeling inside his chest.  
That was, until he found Ed. A seemingly random coincidence that had turned his life around and changed it forever. Is this what fate was? Or was that another childish idea that sad, lonely people hung onto in means to give their life a hint of meaning?  
  
It felt as if the ice which held his emotions suspended had started to thaw, along with his heart and hope. Giving him a gleam of a better life, the desire to create a future, find a purpose worth living for. Was that who Edward was to him, could he possibly be…?  
  
Oswald took a shaky breath in attempts at finding his voice.  
“I’m begging you…” he managed to stutter between the sobs.  
If Ed was indeed that very special someone, he couldn’t let him go. He needed to run into the arms of him once more no matter what all reason said. Because none of this was logical, yet it felt more right than anything else Oswald had ever done in his life.  
  
 _Had someone ever asked him to stay?_ The thought whirled around Edward’s mind as he watched Oswald desperately attempt to wipe his tears away with the help of his sleeve, with little avail.  
His father, his own mother, mean children who never were his friends anyway, adults that never even tried to understand… They had all shouted the same thing in the end. _‘Go away you freak.’_ Freak. Faggot. Wussy. Coward. Crybaby. Weakling. Chicken. Useless. The words of years of repeated abuse came rushing back along with the mocking faces of all who had let the foul words escape their wretched mouths.  
 _‘I wish you had never been born.’_ His father’s cruel words echoed inside his mind, vibrating at such a blaring volume that he felt like his head might just split open.  
  
He blinked, trying to chase the haunting images and sounds away, looking back at the broken face before him. Oswald… He had not only taken him in, after having seen him in such a pitiful state, but he would cry for him and his continued company? Ed tried to grasp any sort of reasoning to what was going on, the entire situation so very much foreign to him.   
Oswald cared, and Ed was what upset him.  
  
It only took a few rapid steps until Ed had closed their distance and found himself embedded in yet another embrace reflecting on all the years of neglect for physical closeness. Someone to love, to be loved. The genuine comfort of a friend who truly cared.  
Both clinging onto their lives in shatters, the heat of the other warming their frozen hearts so that maybe, just maybe, they could learn to trust and love once more.  
  
Naturally, Ed’s pained mind would not leave him so easily. The creeping thought that Ed should probably feel remorse for finding himself so close to another man threatened what was supposed to be a wholesome moment of comfort. His mind filled with laughter of mockery, the sound of belt crashing down and his own sobs mixed alongside Oswald’s persistent cries.  
However, instead of giving in to the remnants of the man who had ultimately shunned him, Ed tightened their grips around each other. The pleasing comfort addictive to a man robbed of intimacy and affection, never having experienced any true display that the soothing feeling of another offered.  
  
He wouldn’t let his father ruin the only good thing that had ever presented himself into Edward’s life, he wouldn’t give him that power.  
  
“I won’t leave,” Ed finally gasped between raspy breaths of tears that he too, had been unable to stop by then.  
  
He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Edward wondered if he would ever be able to rip himself from the consoling arms of Oswald. Or if he wanted to do it in return, they needed each other like oxygen and there was not a fiber in Ed’s body that doubted that in this moment.  
  
A strange wave of consent washed over them both and Ed felt something he had only thought must have been made up fiction up until this point. To think that he would find it in what was supposed to be only a stranger was as absurd as it was amazing.  
—Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taking forever to update this, I actually have the chapters done I just have a lot going personally atm.
> 
> ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH VERO FOR EDITING! My work would be nothing without you, truly.
> 
> Please comment if you enjoy it, your thoughts sustain me and makes me excited to continue putting out content!! Thank you for reading.


	4. Calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for what I would call rather surprising for being me, since this chapter is rather soft. But I suppose the chapter name also serve as a hint for what's to come next chapter...
> 
> Enjoy!!

It took a few days, but Ed was starting to see some improvement in the disaster he would have formerly called his life. Feeling significantly better, and most importantly, clearer. More lucid than he ever had a recollection of being. The dreamy haze blended with any sense of existence and blurred what was real and not, his mind’s desperate attempt to forget, simply survive and endure the harsh truth that was his reality.  
Now, with Oswald, he found the thick fog that had surrounded him was starting to clear, providing a path ahead. Finding himself in a new strange security, less and less in need of the safety blanket that had been provided for years by his mind’s dissociations.  
  
As Ed became more aware, the ability to look at his situation from an introspective view returned, if he had ever had it in the first place. Or perhaps that was what he had been doing all along, detaching himself from his own emotions, seeing them as something that wasn’t a part of himself in order to analyze, evaluate and calculate what he could do to fix the problem that was himself.   
Of course, there was no real problem, not with him at least.   
Realizing this, it gave him the tools in order to start filling Oswald in on what had really caused his deranged state, what circumstances had led to this path and resulted in him  having a meltdown in that alley.  
Things he had never dared or had the slightest desire to share with anyone, too frightened to expose his pathetic weakness, fearful his father would find out and not only hunt him down —but also the entrusted friend who had done nothing wrong other than to lend their ears to listen, them both being punished for their ‘sinful behavior’. The thought made Ed shudder, imagining that friend to be Oswald. Because here he was, spilling the truth of how his father would beat him for missing a question on a test, insults and scolding followed up with how  he wasn’t smart enough —even though he was likely the most clever in his entire class, perhaps even school…  
  
Ed watched how with each secret revealed, a transformation of Oswald’s expression changed before him. Going from furrowed brows, to gritted teeth and fists so tight the skin on his knuckles turned white.   
  
The anger was growing consistently stronger, furious even. Oswald felt the rage bubbling just below the surface and threatening to burst out in a fit of pure animalistic fury.  
He couldn’t for the life of him understand how someone that was supposed to be the most loving and caring person in your life, the one to always stand behind you in hardship and good fortune alike —your own parent, could be the one to hurt a pure and beautiful soul like Edward, so tremendously. Leaving scars for life both on the inside and outside, constant reminders of who he wasn’t allowed to be. Who someone else forced him to be, molding him into someone of their own design, like they were clay under their sticky vicious fingers —when all they did was squeeze the life out of their own son.  
  
It was like discovering a whole new level of betrayal, cruel beyond any logical understanding.  
It did not take much for the feelings to morph, line up with the memories of his own mother’s passing and knowledge of her unfair end —making Oswald channel the rage building inside him in direction of the man who had taken his mother. Two of the same kind, both not worthy to walk this earth while the truly kind souls suffered or laid six feet under.  
  
“Do you ever dream of ending it?” Oswald asked, face falling into a more neutral, yet determined expression —with a slight hint of a consistent grudge to it.   
  
“What do you mean?” Ed was a little taken aback by the sudden unprompted topic, where was this coming from?  
  
“To make him sorry for what he did to you.”  
  
“That would make me just as bad as him.” Ed changed from curious to sour, stern face that gave Oswald a judgemental look.  
  
Oswald didn’t allow himself to be hurt that easily.  
  
“But he deserves it, doesn’t he? You were innocent, he hardly is. Some men need to be punished.”  
  
So that the kind can live on. Did that mean that Oswald was one of the bad men, did he too deserve the punishment? Then how was that fair, when the only reason this feeling had been born inside him from the beginning was because he had the most important person in his life taken from him? He refused to lose another to the hands of cruel men.   
He swore in his own mind then he would have revenge for Ed, but he needed to be there with him, for them to watch the light go out of his eyes together and the suffering of past memories dying with him —a new chapter awaiting.  
  
“I… Suppose you have a point.”  
  
Oswald nodded then lowered his gaze, voice small.  
“My mother she was… Killed.”  
  
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!”  
  
“The murderer is still out there. If I knew who it was… Well. Let’s just say I’m already guilty of having done things my mother would not have appreciated.”  
  
The sound of sadness was soon turned into a fist clenching, eyes narrow and low, the words coming out through gritted teeth. The lingering rage just simmering below, threatening to overflow and spill the blood of the closest unfortunate victim by the insufferable grief inside him.  
  
“I think she would be proud.” 

Ed’s smile was fond, genuine and making the edges of Oswald’s anger melt.  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
Ed took a step closer to Oswald, grabbing his shoulders with a firm but gentle grip, smile still beaming.  
  
“You’re a great man Oswald, and I have this feeling something even bigger awaits you.”  
  
“Interesting choice of words…” He chuckled. “She always used to say that. ‘Someday you’ll be a great man Oswald.’”  
  
“Well she sounds like a wise woman then.”  
  
“She was.” Oswald was smiling as well, now.

  


***

  


It was a relief, really, that Oswald had not found much use with the books on mental illness and psychology that he had brought home from the library. They had certainly assisted in shining some light on things he had not considered about the human psyche, yes. And perhaps had even given him some insight to things he could take notes about, relative to his own problems and past as well.   
When it came to Edward’s current state, it seemed less relevant.   
However, it did awaken a moment of trepidation when Ed had entered the kitchen with one of said books in had, wearing an abashed expression.  
  
“What is this?” he asked with concern.  
  
“Oh… It’s—” Oswald sighed and stood up, gaze down as he looked for the right words.   
  
Ed stood fast, fear building, thoughts going a million miles per hour with uncertainty. Oswald didn’t strike him as the kind of person to randomly read up on psychology. What was further alarming, was the bookmark left in a chapter about dissociation, with a few underlined parts.  
  
“I borrowed them when we had first met. I was worried and I felt lost,” Oswald admitted at last, lifting his head to meet Ed’s eyes. Ed searched for doubt or pity, but all he found was honesty and concern.  
  
“You were worried about me?”  
  
“I did not know what to do, I figured I better seek out some suggestions on how to tackle the situation to assure I would not accidentally make it worse. Turns out trusting my gut was the key in this case, though.”  
  
Oswald fiddled with his hands, wondering if in his attempts to help, this discovery would have possibly just incinerated what trust he had gathered to this point.  
  
Stumbling over his own thoughts, Ed felt at a loss for words. An occurrence which was otherwise new for him, was starting to feel like a habit in the presence of Oswald.  
Was it possible he cared that much? Nothing done out of spite or reluctance, not even with intentions of resilience?  
For all he knew, and with what Oswald had done for him so far. It still seemed hard to make sense of.  
  
“I know what you’re thinking, Ed, and I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was to offend you.”  
  
“I just—”  
  
“You’re quite remarkable as you are. Nothing in these books or what any doctor has or would tell you will ever be able to change that.”  
  
The smile Oswald gave him spoke volumes more than the words themselves, and it ignited some sort of unfamiliar warmth inside Ed.  
  
Perhaps, there was light in a small part of the otherwise traitorous and bigoted population of Gotham city, and Ed had the fortune of having literally stumbled upon one.

  


***

  


Things got awfully domestic after that, something both men thought they’d hate —driven to insanity within the day. Instead they found themselves in the same floaty feeling as before, bathing in the warm light of each other’s presence.   
  
Ed was finally free —or at least significantly better from the hauntings of his own mind, let out from the cage to happily tweet and mingle with other birds. Although there was only one bird he had ever had eyes for.  
  
His progress is slow, but apparent. Small attempts to start and help Oswald out, in order not to be a total leach of a guest —was that what he was? A mere visitor of this man’s life? The thought brought sadness to Edward at such a profound amount that it in the end, only increased his determination. He would prove himself to be more than that, to nurse and develop the potential that was so obvious between them —almost as it was meant to be, were things that real?   
  
Yet the way they shared their days brought a calm to Ed’s treacherous tornado of a mindcastle, constantly spinning with millions of potential situations, solutions, ideas —like carrying all the world's problems on his shoulders without the empathy to care.  
  
Too lost in the seagreen eyes looking back with curiosity once he noticed being watched, Ed floated away in a different kind of fantasy.  
  
“Ed?” Oswald raised an eyebrow. “Is everything alright?”  
  
Edward blinked a few times, trying to regain his focus and grip on the world, looking down at what looked like a bowl of very sugary cereal. The kind he had always wanted to try as a child, but his father wouldn’t let him have in case it would end up cause him costly dental issues (that he certainly had not planned to pay off anyway).  
Breakfast, right.  
  
“No, I’m… Fine. A bit distracted is all... —tired, maybe?”  
  
Oswald felt a stab of guilt, he had let Ed continue to lay on the couch, not certain how long his stay was supposed to go on for. Although he made it very clear that he did not want him to leave. It was just… The only bed available other than his own was his mother’s, still carrying the bittersweet smell of simpler times and familiarity. The room untouched since her death, apart from Oswald’s brief dusting to make it continue to look lived in, she would have liked that, he thought.  
His own bed was by far big enough for the both of them, but it did not seem like an appropriate thing to ask someone he barely knew. Even if Ed was rapidly becoming a good friend, perhaps the best… If not only one he had ever had.  
There was the fact that when they said their goodnights in the evening, it felt as if a piece of him was missing, ripped from his soul as if still attached to Edward by an invisible red string, tying them together. Forever entwined in one another’s lives, bound through means beyond his understanding. That was what his mother would have told him if he had come for advice, at least. She always asked him to trust his gut, his born intuition. _Follow your heart for it will show you the true path.  
  
_“Do you want to…” _Lay close and never leave my side?_   “Do you want to have the bed tonight?”  
  
“What about you?”  
  
The fact that Oswald’s mother’s bed remained off limits was a given, if yet unspoken rule, Edward understood the sentiment even if he couldn’t grip his head around the attachment or the emotion that came with. He had lost his mother, but never had he felt the gaping hole of grief for her that Oswald seemed to experience about his own maternal figure.  
He understood the bond, through many books of research on how he was supposed to act. Always choosing to use logic to cover what he lacked in understanding of human emotions. The psychology of it was clear, the real life experiences of it were not.  
  
“I’ll… It’s quite alright. We can take turns, if you like?”  
  
“I’d like that.” Ed smiled. Wondering how many times he had smiled in his life before coming here, and how it seemed to be part of him now. Strange how fast what you know can change?

  


***

  


Their days continued like that, a routine slowing building to a new sense of familiarity that Oswald could have only dreamed of experiencing.  
  
Ed was overwhelmed by the neverending kindness of Oswald, so certain still that it must be some sort of trick, ploy or way to use him. Only to throw him in the trash or even have him killed once his duties had been fulfilled… The kind of people his father had said this godforsaken city was filled with, outcasts and outlaws. How he had cursed ever coming to Gotham, enchanted by a beautiful woman whose only legacy would be the disappointment of a son —a truth which only enraged him further.  
Not that Ed had believed every word he said, he believed somewhere deep down with a childless naive hope that there was beauty within the stained gray stones of the streets. Even in a place like the Narrows.  
Oh, how he would laugh if he could see Ed now, sharing a flat with another man in the middle of the Narrows, living day to day in order to survive. In the very district he had despised, the people he had shunned and spit at, if they showed themselves outside the forgotten and neglected streets that were now his home.  
Four walls of pure joy and hope radiating from the owner, his friend.  
  
Eventually Ed started to help Oswald, very well aware of his less than legal means to stay alive. But then again, this was the Narrows, after all. What other way was there?  
He quickly found he had some sort of natural talent for the job, being able to help Oswald in calculating the exact arrival of the few cops that still cared to check out security calls. Or even worse, the thugs that owned the stores out for blood for those who dared to steal from their territory.  
Ed also managed to crack the security systems that had made Oswald’s life a hell as of late, a model that had become his sworn enemy at this point —taken apart and overruled by Ed like it had been childsplay.  
  
Oswald almost found it endearing, how the other man would giggle like a kid in a candy store when he outsmarted yet another system. Scored them yet another win.  
Slowly, their lives actually started to weigh over on a better side. Not wealthy by far, but able to do more than simply survive on cheap and rather disgusting foods.   
He had taken Ed out of the Narrows to celebrate, one night. A nice italian restaurant claimed by the mob that was the Maroni crime family.  
Truth to be told, the only reason Oswald had chosen that particular location, was to gain intel. Something he had yet to come clean to Ed about. Perhaps he already knew, because in this city, this life of crime, information was worth more than the heaviest gold and the shiniest diamonds. The right deal of dirt on someone, a nasty detail they had preferred to remain in the dark —and you could bring them down with a flick of your fingers.   
It was a long road ahead of such grand schemes, but Oswald had hope, plans and aspirations. He had given up trying to live up to his mother’s memory, at least partially. She must prefer to see him thrive from the other side, than to see him suffer in poverty like they had always done during his upbringing.  
  
Ed, seemingly oblivious, had raised his glass and proclaimed a cheer of their successful partnership, expressing his delight over their well matched abilities.  
  
“Together we would be unstoppable. Imagine, Oswald! What we could do if we were to run our own head of operations one day. Minions of our own at our service!”  
  
A shark grin of mischievousness spread across Oswald’s already deliciously devious features, or so Ed couldn’t help himself as describing the wonderful spectacle of a man.  
  
“I like the way you’re thinking, dear friend.” He clinked his glass into Ed’s, bright eyes meeting his.

  


***

  


Their quiet evenings were Ed’s absolute favorite, and he suspected Oswald might share the same opinion.   
  
Snuggled down on each end of the couch, despite the presence of the two armchairs. Unconsciously seeking the other, wanting to be nearer, an unexplainable craving for closeness that seemed to be insatiable. Hiding behind the cover of a book each, to shield the glances they would shoot across the pages once they believed the other was not looking —only to be wrong and share a  burning gaze from time to time, shyly averting the connection and going back to the pages that seemed to matter far less than the other human being too far apart for both their likings.  
  
It was a more recent routine, but a wonderful one nevertheless. Ed had been excited to pick up reading once they had gotten him a pair of glasses that properly matched his prescription, going back to the same optician to once again threaten him under gunpoint while he did his work —and the promise to have his business destroyed if he did no go through with the delivery of them without any trouble. Luckily, the man had known his place and Ed could let his eyes rest with the new glasses —he had kept the frames, finding an odd attachment to them now.  
  
A giddy and excited tone filled the room tonight, as Ed couldn’t help but share something from his current readings.  
  
“Did you know what some people ask for help from other realms, a mutual understanding between the two parties that if you carry out the promises of their liking —a piece of offering, if you like— they will do their best to fulfill your request in return?”  
  
Oswald lowered his detective story into his lap.  
  
“Like demons?”  
  
Ed raised his book on demonology in return to confirm.  
  
“This part talks of Prince Seere, a higher rank demon often appearing as a man on a winged horse. Says to have the ability of time travel —imagine the possibilities of that!”  
  
“What would you request?” Oswald continued to ask with casual curiosity. His mother had often spoken of the paranormal, along with religious stories, all of them now mixed into a hazy memory and his mother’s soothing voice. It wasn’t like he believed in it, but not like he couldn’t confirm it to be simply tales either. Truth to be told, he had heard stranger things happen in this very city…  
  
It took a few moments for Edward to reply, clearly weighing his words.  
What did he want?   
_For you to put your lips on mine._    
The thought came suddenly, startling Ed so that Oswald reached forward to put a soothing hand on his knee, worry in his eyes.  
  
“Ed?”  
  
Where had that come from?   
It was like a storm was brewing inside his heart, the wind picking up strength and threatening to break the walls —but Ed continued to barricade them, keeping it together.   
They were just friends, correct? That’s what he continued to tell himself, at least. Ignoring the strange bubbling feeling filling up his chest and making it hard to breath, but a pleasant kind of imaginary sensation of restraints to his air supplies. ...None of this made sense.  
Truth to be told, he did not have the slightest idea of how friendship was supposed to be, in which form a feeling of that kind of attachment manifested.  
  
“Edward? Are you alright?”   
  
Oswald was leaning in even closer now, nose almost touching Ed’s and his breath hot on his face, clogging up his glasses.   
Ed couldn’t help but glance down to those lips, deliciously pink and beautifully parted —almost inviting….  
Perhaps… His feelings had grown to be of a different kind after all, leaking into the territory of the romantic. Had he ever been in love before?  
It didn’t matter, because it was clear that no one would ever be capable of loving a broken soul like himself. Especially someone like Oswald.  
  
So what came second?  
  
“I would like my father to be wiped off the earth long before he started to destroy life around him.”   
  
“That would do no good.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It would mean you would never have been born.” Oswald sighed, moving back to Ed’s side on the couch but making sure to keep the proximity.  
  
“...Oh. Perhaps, that would be for the better.”  
  
Oswald looked up, eyes sullen and tired.  
  
“Then I would have never met you.”  
  
“I don’t understand?”  
  
“This… Whatever we’re sharing right now, I don’t wanna lose it, I told you.” Oswald grabbed his pant legs, scrunching up the fabric while collecting courage for his next words.   
  
He raised his head and reinstated the deep gazes that seemed to grow increasingly more familiar and reoccuring between them.  
  
“I would be lost without you, Ed.”  
  
The words echoed inside Ed’s mind, adding such profound power to the winds that they finally tipped over his rangely barriers.  
There was no doubt about it anymore, he was in love with Oswald —and he had had absolutely no idea what to do about it.  
  
When Ed didn’t answer, just struggled, uneven breathing filling the silence between them, Oswald continued.

“May I oppose a better suggestion? Perhaps not as efficient as a demon prince but…”  
  
“I’m all ears.”  
  
Oswald scooted closer, as if that was even possible, grin wide with mischief.   
  
“Where does your father live?”


	5. Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more graphic than past ones and include most of the tags in relations to abuse and violence, please take notice.

Ed didn’t quite remember the how and when, memories twirling in a flurry blur —but he found himself walking down the familiar street leading to his childhood home.  
His head was spinning, emotions overwhelming him and mind running a million miles per hour. Lost in his own head, he took a misstep, making him lose his balance and stagger forward.  
A pair of steady arms caught him before he had the misfortune of falling, helping to steady him.  
  
“Are you alright? We can turn back, we don’t have to do this now.” Oswald’s usual warm tone —a voice reserved for Ed only, was filled with concern. Had he pushed too much on this? Perhaps he only caused more damage to Ed for initiating this… Could he call it a plan? He wasn’t sure what were the official credentials to helping your friend assassinate his abusive father.  
  
“Yes we do, you said so yourself. I can’t start living until I’ve put an end to my old life.”  
  
The path ahead seemed like it was ablaze, torched with all he rather forget, hot coal burning at his feet with every step he took. Still he put his foot in front of the other, Oswald’s lingering presence solid and fire resistant, guiding him through the flames.  
  
Next thing Ed knew, he was taking a deep breath, eyes staring back at the wooden door leading into the town house filled with memories of anguish and fear. There is nothing more he wanted in that moment than to turn around and run, run until his legs stopped carrying him like he had done that night —promising never to come back, yet here he was.  
He turned, ready to succumb to his fears when a hand grabbed his shoulder.  
  
“We came this far, don’t let him rule you any further.”  
  
Ed gave him a timid nod, still insecure, turned back and knocked. It felt odd to be a visitor —uninvited at that, of your own home. Still this wasn’t his home, not anymore. Oswald and his apartment had become far more than this grimey old stone house had ever been, sometimes it even felt like they could be part of a family —was that even a real concept, more importantly, was it something Edward deserved?  
  
The door came flying open, a tall, lanky man with neatly combed back brown hair stuck his head out. He could’ve likely been described as quite the catch in his younger days, perhaps still for the right crowd —if it had not been for those wild eyes, burning with hatred.  
  
“I thought I told you to get out of my sight and never come back.”   
  
The man growled before he noticed Oswald standing beside Ed. As soon as he did, his entire posture and expression alike changed —no, _transformed_ in front of their very eyes, plastering on a sincere smile that could have fooled anyone. Only Oswald wasn’t just anyone, and he was no fool, nor did he intend to be treated as one.  
  
“Hello, what can I help this fine gentleman with?” Voice smooth and refined, act perfected out to his fingertips, playing out the role of a simple kind man in his best days —whose biggest passion in life was to offer reassurement for others.  
  
What a joke.  
  
“ _We_ are here to pick up some of Edward’s belongings, may we come in?”  
  
“Oh but, Eddie told you didn’t he? He doesn’t live here anymore, he took off a couple of months back, screaming he couldn’t stand the sight of me anymore.”   
  
The man impossibly enough conjured up a single stray tear, was he for real?  
  
“He doesn’t have anything left here.” Clearly not up for further discussion, afraid of what might come forward upon closer inspection, he began to slide the door shut.  
  
Oswald put his feet in between.  
  
“Move. Aside.” He dropped the act he had not been playing, unlike the infuriating man he pushed hard into the doorframe, forcing himself into the hallway, Ed quickly followed, shooting fearful glances towards his father.  
  
Ed’s father corrected his clothes and trailed after them, shutting the door behind him. Wouldn’t want the neighbors to hear as this likely could get messy… He didn’t know who this rude prick Edward had found was but he was starting to like him less and less. Typical, only one who could ever bear his company was someone freakier than him, after all.  
  
“I don’t know what kind of lies Edward has told you, but I want you to know I forgive him for it. Please understand that he can’t help it, being a compulsive liar and all.” The smile was back but you could just about make out the flickering at the corner of his mouth.  
  
Oswald frowned and started to move up the stairs with Ed close behind him when an arm violently pulled Ed down again.  
  
“If you don’t believe me, let me go get his official diagnosis papers. You’ll see. I have done no more than offer Edward my help, I sacrificed my entire life to assist him with his chronic disability.”  
  
He patted Ed’s shoulder, grip loose to the casual observer, but the shudder that travelled through Ed’s body was more than obvious. Ed’s father treated him like he was an object, his belonging, the fear in Ed made that abundantly clear.  
  
Oswald couldn’t stand how everything that came out of his mouth was in complete disregard towards Ed, as if he wasn’t even there.  
  
“Take your filthy abusive hands off of him.” Oswald snarled, striding towards the two —something dangerous burning in his eyes, threatening to spill over if aggravated enough.  
  
“Watch your language, young man. People could mistake you for the low life you really are.” He pushed Edward forward, the taller man losing his balance on already shaky, wobbly legs —falling to the floor before Oswald could hurry to his aid.  
  
“That’s fine, at least I’m honest about it, unlike you.”   
  
“You have some nerve coming into my home, bringing that cretin of an abomination with you. Didn’t he tell you he’s not welcome here anymore? Since you two —which are quite the pair I may add— seemed to have gotten so disturbingly close. Perhaps losers like you deserve each other, you’ll never get anywhere in life anyway. Doomed to dwell in the streets looking for scraps like the rats you are.”  
  
There it was, the true face finally cracking and boiling over, revealing it’s nasty monstrous nature, the mask discarded.  
  
“On the other hand…” The man reached down to pull Ed from Oswald’s grip, almost strangling him by pulling his shirt from behind, suspending his air supply with the fabric pressing against his throat.  
“Sharing a bond with another male like this is inappropriate — a sin you may say. You do know what happens to sinners, don’t you Eddie?  
  
Ed could barely manage a nod before he was thrown back to the floor, a kick shortly followed into his gut, making him roll over and wince in pain.  
He should have known better, Ed had tried to tell Oswald but the other man had filled him with such hope and confidence he had really thought they could take him on.  
Oh how wrong he had been, he was nothing else than a deadbeat failure and this was the fate he was stuck with —cursed with from the day he was born. For what? Being too smart, different? Or simply not part of the life his father had imagined for himself.  
  
The last drop fell and the golden goblet poured over, liquid rage spilling over the edges and filling up every corner of Oswald’s being, he had enough, no more.  
With one swift movement he threw himself forward and slapped the older man across the face with a force supplied by the blazing rage fuelling him from in his veins. A distinct crack was heard next, followed by a low growl of pain.  
  
“You son of a—”  
  
“What? Son of a what? I had the fortune of a parent who could actually love and care for me, before she was taken by the likes of over bottom feeders like you. So caught up in their own self-proclaimed glory that they don’t even blink to consider the consequences of the pain they inflict on others.  
Did you ever stop and wonder what your actions did to Edward? Did you ever even CARE?”  
  
Oswald was so fired up, blinded by his rage, that it went unnoticed as Ed’s father had backed up against the fireplace, grabbing one of the pokers.   
  
Oswald didn’t have time to continue his rant before the blunt object hit his knee in a forceful blow, possibly crushing his kneecap, he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was that the pain was striking, blossoming up inside.  
Although the moment of agony was cut short, a stronger force took over with the adrenaline inflicted by the pain, adding another component to the mixture of already searing blood in his veins, another wave of power hitting him. He was up, on unsteady but surprisingly strong legs in no time.   
  
“You’re going to regret doing that, you spineless ingrate.”  
  
“That is Mr. Nashton to you.”  
  
For a moment Oswald was taken aback, glancing over to Ed who just looked increasingly more terrified.  
  
“Or, did he lie about that too?” The wide mocking grin was back. “Of course he did—”  
  
Before he was allowed to finish the sentence, Oswald revealed his gun and shoved it into his face between his eyes, clicking the safety off.  
He looked down at how Mr. Nashton’s grip tightened around the poker.  
  
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, you’d be dead before you even had time to lift your arm. So you might as well drop it.”  
  
Oswald stepped back with the gun still pointed at the older man, bending down to pick up the poker, while attempting to hide the pain on his face as his leg protested, adrenaline starting to wear off.  
He didn’t give Mr. Nashton another moment to even blink before he let the poker fly to his knees, in clear revenge. The other man went down instantly and Oswald didn’t stop to reflect over the victory until he let the next blow hit, seeing him curl in on himself as the beatings increased.  
  
Ed had crawled up to the first few steps of the stairs, peering through the railing at the scene in front of him, just like he had done as a child —back when his mother had still been alive— watching his father pull her hair and scold her for not having finished dinner in time, or how it wasn’t to his liking. Or… He shuddered, the times he had accused her for being with other men, forcing himself on her in punishment. —sort of things that Ed had never been supposed to witness, of course, but he had this feeling his father might not have cared even if he had known. Other than it would have been clear who would be next.  
  
At first, Ed had felt the biting guilt for having dragged Oswald into this, causing him to get injured in the process. Then, his eyes went wide —not with fear, but pure awe— as he watched the smaller man take back the upper hand, one strike after another. Ruthless beating done by putting his entire being into it. Ed was fascinated, intrigued —and as much as it embarrassed him, a little bit turned on. Who knew how satisfying it could be to see your long-standing abuser finally get what he deserved, torment retaliated.  
Suddenly he felt himself overtaken with another feeling, far stronger than anything he had ever possibly felt before. One of the voices from before laughed louder than he had ever heard it, filling up his mind and body with control —confidence and just purebred anger and a dripping thirst for revenge. Building up and overwhelming him with such intensity that he didn’t know if it was him or the voice pulling the strings anymore, and he wasn’t sure he cared.  


His legs moved him forward without him realizing, and soon he was looming over his father, bent forward on his knees, protecting his face. Recognizing the well known stance, a reflection of so many past moments  —only the roles had been reversed, Ed thought.  
He reached down and ripped his father’s belt out of the hooks, the unpleasantly familiar sound of leather hitting the floor, piercing his ears. Only this time he wasn’t filled with fear, only a rage complimenting the wild eyes of his friend beside him, cracking up a wide grin upon realizing Ed’s intentions.  
  
Oswald was doing this for him, Ed reminded himself. He had insisted they would come here solely for Ed’s sake, to put an end to a chapter only filled with misery. So they could… What? Move on —together?  
That wouldn’t happen until certain aspects were removed.  
  
The first blow wasn’t as satisfying as he had anticipated, the sound and impact dulled by the layer of his father’s clothes —he had always ripped the shirt off Edward when the belt came out. Fair was fair, right? So, he removed the fabric in one violent pull, the buttons of his shirt flying across the floor.  
The next blow’s sound soared through the small room and turned Ed’s blood to ice, his eyes growing cold, consumed by the sole desire of revenge, to inflict the same pain to make up for —take back all he had suffered for so long.  
The third blow was a hit met with relief washing over him, the memories and images of each past pain running through him.  
He lost count after that, everything blended together, head spinning, lost in the moment. A storm brewed around him, a hurricane took over the last notion of sanity left in him.  
This is where it had all led to, after all. Surely he must have seen it coming?  
  
Ed listened to the cries and screams of despair coming from the man that was supposed to be his father, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile —a wild, mad grin caused by pent up feelings by acting like a doormat all those years. Finally the ease of letting go washed over him. Freedom for his previously confined mind, now given the tools to pick the lock and open up to its true potential. He could see the first signs of light ahead —or perhaps it was darkness? After all, the worst villains were born out of darkness and despair, and they shall raise through the ashes like the phoenix, shining brighter and threatening to let anyone who dare touch them catch on fire.  
  
He was unstoppable now, glowing with power he didn’t know he possessed, satisfaction burning through his skin.  
  
“Ed? EDWARD?” Oswald yelled in desperation, as if it was the hundredth time he had called out for him.  
  
The words, along with the hands on his shoulders, snapped him back to reality, like waking from a dream where you were falling. He looked down at the scene before him, his father curled around himself, back bloodied and destroyed beyond repair. Thick, sticky crimson liquid smudged his vision as it was splattered over his face and glasses.  
He looked over to his partner in crime, quite literally, he realized. Maybe his father had not been wrong there, and frankly? There was something exciting about that, doing the complete opposite to what he would have wanted.   
  
Edward looked almost sheepish, a shy smile on his lips that Oswald struggled not to call endearing. Still it gained a smirk of his own.  
  
“Time to finish the job.” Oswald laid a switchblade in his hands and helped Ed close his grasp around it, nodding encouragingly at the pathetic sight of a man before them.  
  
The storm around him cleared, eyes glossy but clear and he felt a brightness to his mind like he had never encountered before.  
  
This was it, wasn’t it? End of the line, the last page in his long diary of suffering. All the times he had fantasized about this moment, cursed himself for such wrong and sinful thoughts, ones he nurse and developed in exact detail —it was the only form of relief he had at the time.  
Yet, there wasn’t a speck of doubt left in his mind, this was not an outburst in the heat of the moment and rage. No, this would be done with lucidity and precision.  
  
Ed tilted his head, giving his father a last pitiful look. Look at him now, look where all his words, beatings and attempts to teach him what was _right_ had gotten him. Didn’t he know? Children learn from what they see, not hear. So in those terms, he’d completed his education with straight A’s.  
  
He flicked the mechanism of the switchblade —savouring the sound of the blade coming out, fastened his grip around the base and raised his arm. One swift hit into the back of his neck, going directly into the brain stem, that would be all it would take, to end his life. To finally be free.  
Still something didn’t felt right, unsatisfying.  
  
“Oswald?”  
  
“Yes dear Ed?” _Dear?_ When had he fallen into using such words of affection towards him? Although, he supposed this was a rather intimate moment, and hoped that Ed wouldn’t mind, or even pick up on it.  
  
“Can you hold him up, please?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Oswald staggered over, his leg still hurting from the blow to his knee —nothing he couldn’t deal with though, his state of wellbeing wasn’t what was important at the moment.  
He pulled up the almost limp, broken man by his arm. Holding him up with the best of his capabilities in Ed’s direction. His head remained hanging, but it was obvious he was still conscious.  
  
“Look at me.” Ed demanded.  
  
No response.  
  
“I said LOOK AT ME.”  
  
Slowly, Mr. Nashtons lifted his head. Eyes set low, almost rolled back into his skull. Ed had never seen such a sad sight, it suited him.  
  
“I am Edward _Nygma_ and I hold no sort of acquaintance to you. You are nothing, you hear that. Nothing. I will make sure there’s not a single trace of you left behind that indicates you ever walked this earth. Everything you cared so much for will be turned into scattered, filthy soot, carried by the winds of Gotham, forever forgotten.   
You are nothing.”  
  
Ed shoved the knife through his father’s throat, blade turned upwards and putting his entire weight into the movement. He had wanted his entire hand to go through if it could, grab a hold of his spine and crack it with his bare fingers.   
Feeling the warm liquid pour over his hand and hearing the man choke on his own blood would suffice though.  
He could feel Oswald letting go of his grip as Mr. Nashton started to become deadweight, Ed caught him by shoving the blade in further. His father’s eyes wide and blank, pupils dilated until the light went out of them, taken over by a foggy display of nothingness.  
Mr. Nashton was no more, and Edward Nygma was free to start anew.

 

***

 

The cleanup was almost as satisfying as the killing, and _wow_ —Ed couldn’t help but think of how amazing that felt, to imagine, _remember._ He had killed his father, he had really done it. It was over.  
Well, almost.   
  
He proceeded to stick the pliers into the corpse’s mouth and rip out another tooth, hearing the clinking sound as it fell into the jar Oswald held out for him, nearly filled with the entire bloody display of Mr. Nashton’s dental record —or now, lack thereof. Call Ed sentimental, but he liked the thought of a trophy, even though he was well aware of the dangers in keeping evidence.  
  
Next Oswald handed him a crowbar, giving him an innocent shrug when Ed asked where he had found it.   
Ed carried on with using the blunt metal object to crush the fingers and finally the skull. Grinning widely at how his father’s features turned to a bloody, destroyed mess. Unrecognizable, perfect.  
They made sure there was nothing left to identify the man, even if someone had wanted to —because Edward planned to fulfill his promise and erase any record of Mr. Nashton having ever existed.   
  
After gathering a few pieces from his former room, or what was left of it, as he discovered the entire room had been redecorated in the short time he had been away, and what remained of his belongings had been stuffed into a bag, shoved into the back of his closet. He shrugged off the memory of how many times he had hidden in there, hoping his father wouldn’t find him. Of course, he always did… Never again, he reminded himself as he grabbed the bag and closed the closet door.   
He was pleased that the items in the bag included his chessboard and a number of books, probably things his father had thought he could sell. Not that he needed anything more, nothing was left for him of that life.  
  
Oswald gave him another warm smile as Ed came down the stairs, his nose wrinkled with the distinct smell of gasoline, and he was handed a lighter. Where did Oswald get a hold of these things on such short notice?  
  
Edward torched the building as they walked out, throwing the lighter and watching the flames instantly catch on and caress the walls with its hot breath, ravaging everything in its path and leave nothing but ashes behind. A black, bad smelling powder —a good representation of what burned.  
  
As the two men stood to watch the fire work its way through the house, they hardly even noticed they had instinctively reached for the other’s hand, bathing in the moment of satisfying destruction before them, rejoicing over the company of another and the future that awaited them. Free to be themselves, not defined by anyone else.  
If they had managed this, together they could accomplish anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie it took a lot to write this but at the same time I'm rather happy with it? Which is something seeing this is me, Mr.I-hate-everything-I-write we're talking about.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!
> 
> Also we're nearing it's end. Only one chapter left then an epilogue to follow. Thank you everyone who have stayed with me or just found it! I hope you're ready.


End file.
